


A Farce in the Rain

by fluidstatic



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: AU, Archades is racist af okay, Chicanery, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Grifting, Slavery, penelo who?, vaan who?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-13
Updated: 2009-08-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 12:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13951731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluidstatic/pseuds/fluidstatic
Summary: Trying to get through Archades in one piece is tricky, especially when you and your friends are a pack of fugitives. But Balthier has a plan.





	A Farce in the Rain

Balthier scowled into his dirty glass of ale and drummed his fingers on the scarred wooden table.

"We must discuss our itinerary for the next day or two. Seeing as Jules has made off with my bag of chops, we'll be in Trant running errands awhile. Unfortunately, the place is rife with highbrow gentry who would sooner spit at a Viera than look her in the eye. That could be a problem for you, Fran... And alas, our dear Gabranth has informants all across the city. This leaves the captain in a bind as well, since they're all on the lookout for him... and myself, in fact. Speaking as we are of lookouts, princess, you've doubtless acquired a bounty on your head since we last saw the head-hunter's boards, wouldn't you think?"

Basch frowned, and Ashe looked as though she might be ill.

"We'll never make it to Draklor alive..."

Balthier smiled at her calmly.

"Don't be quite so fatalistic, princess. I have an idea. A rather unpleasant one, to be sure, but I believe t'will be quite effective."

Ashe cocked her head. "What do you suggest?"

The pirate drew a sheet of crumpled parchment and a stub of pencil from his breast pocket and began to make hasty notes.

"We'll need to buy a proper heavy cloak with a hood before we disembark. Mine is back at the Strahl, regrettably. We'll procure a proper disguise for you this evening on the black market, princess. It will be simple enough to trade false gossip for new clothes, and they'll be instrumental for our survival."

Ashe frowned, baffled, but Fran blinked in sudden comprehension.

"You would suggest...?"

She didn't need to finish the sentence; Balthier saluted her with his pencil in affirmation.

"Precisely. I know you don't like the idea, but we may actually have a little fun with it. Think of it as a game of farce."

Fran twitched her ear and murmured something in Vieran that made the corner of Balthier's mouth twitch.

"Don't be vulgar, my heart."

Ashe frowned in confusion as Balthier made another note on his sheet of parchment.

"Begging your pardon, princess. Allow me to explain..."

The next morning, three Humes and a Viera climbed the stair out of Old Archades into Trant. The young gentry leading them was dressed in an Akademian's uniform; the grey and red insignia on the breast pocket indicated his double proficiency in religion and diplomacy. A pretty girl in plain cotton clothes, draped in his overcoat to protect against the drizzly chill of early spring, clung to his arm.

"You see, Amalia? Archades is a fine place for commerce. I would you open a perfumery here one day; your exotic tastes would doubtlessly be well received."

Ashe smiled primly, her grey eyes sweeping the street. "What lovely architecture... and such a bustling marketplace."

No one saw, but the princess' hands were shaking, and her grip on Balthier's arm was like a vise.

Slightly behind them came Fran, in a dingy linen dress, and Basch, his face shadowed by the hood of a heavy woolen cloak. Both of them kept their eyes firmly on Balthier's feet and did not look up. A passing ardent shouted something obscene at Fran, but she merely blinked somnolently and continued to walk.

"Pick up your heels, man. We'll be late," Balthier snipped at Basch, who grunted subserviently and quickened his pace a fraction.

A passing gentry stopped in his tracks and did a double-take at the young academic.

"My dear young master! What a pleasure to see you again..."

Balthier raised his eyes from Ashe's face to the owner of the voice – An Akademy professor, from the looks of his clothes – and smiled crisply.

"Ah, how delightful, professor. It's been too long. However are you?" He held out his hand and grasped the professor's wrist in warm familiarity.

"Splendid 'll forgive me, my mind isn't what it once was. Your name?"

"Mid Demensas, Professor. I believe I took one of your classes..."

The professor's eye flicked to the insignia on Balthier's breast pocket, and his face lit with false comprehension.

"Ah, yes, I remember quite well. You managed an exemplary grade in my class on Galtean religious history, did you not?"

Balthier gave a shy smile and blushed; the humble expression didn't suit him.

"T'was a fascinating subject, indeed, professor. You can hardly blame me for wanting to impress you."

Fran gave a tiny cough that almost resembled a chuckle; Ashe threw her a sharp look.

"Be still!"

Fran shuffled her feet. "...Eih. a'nith."

The professor scowled. "I'm pleased to see you treat your servant with the proper discipline, my dear. Too many of your contemporaries are distastefully kind to such barbarians. Forgive me, but I do believe Mid has neglected to introduce us."

Ashe glanced at Balthier nervously; he didn't so much as bat an eye.

"Of course, my apologies. This is Amalia Heios, a recent expatriate of Rabanastre."

The gentry took Ashe's hand and bowed low over it. Abashed at hearing Rasler's surname, she nearly forgot to smile.

"A pleasure, miss Heios. And..."

The gentry gave Fran a spiteful glance; Balthier waved his hand.

"That's Amalia's maidservant; can't pronounce her name. Not that it matters, really."

The professor looked Fran up and down once. She bobbed her head deferentially, eyes still averted, and he addressed her in an overloud voice.

"Treat your mistress well, Viera. The lady's quite kind to take you in."

Fran twitched one ear in an inscrutable gesture but did not look up.

Balthier shook his head. "I'm afraid it won't do to speak to her, Professor; she doesn't understand a whit of proper speech unless it's in a Dalmascan accent. She can't understand me, and I can't speak a word of her jungle chatter, but it's just as well. Amalia keeps her properly subdued."

The professor returned his attention to Ashe and smiled pleasantly.

"I'm remiss not to ask; what brings you to our fine city, so far from the Lord Consul's watchful eye?"

Ashe stammered. "...Ah, I..."

Balthier smiled gently at her.

"Don't be shy, my dear... We fashion ourselves something as sweethearts, you see, professor. We make plans to wed this Firamoon."

The professor smiled, visibly delighted. "Ah, young love! My congratulations to you both."

Balthier lifted Ashe's fingertips to his lips, and she giggled, with some difficulty. Basch gave a sudden twitch and cleared his throat loudly, offended at the terrible impropriety of the thing. The professor started at the sound and looked round; Balthier quickly turned to the captain and glared.

"Did I give you permission to speak?"

Basch shook his head and took a slight step back.

The professor stammered and went slightly pale. "By Archas... Is that a Landisian, Mid?"

"What? Oh, yes. I had hoped to employ a Bangaa as my bodyguard, but a Landisian refugee's just as good for the muscle, wouldn't you agree?"

The professor nodded vaguely, his eye still trained on Basch. "Quite. I must say I'm impressed... However do you keep such a brute in line?"

Balthier examined his fingernails. "He takes well to the cane, mercifully enough. A proper beating after supper and he's docile as a kitten in the morning. Isn't that right, Davic?"

It took a moment for Basch to register he'd been addressed directly, but then he bobbed his head in silent agreement. It was Ashe's turn to clear her throat; she looked affronted.

Balthier patted her hand condescendingly. "Hush. I've told you a dozen times, Amalia darling, he's nothing to be afraid of . . ."

He glanced up the street and frowned, then turned graciously to the professor.

"Ah, I'm dreadfully sorry, professor, but I've only just realized the time. The morning grows old, and we've an errand to run before lunch. You'll kindly excuse us?"

The man bowed. "Of course, my dear Mid. Apologies for keeping you. The best of luck to you and your sweetheart."

As Pirate and princess continued down the street arm-in-arm, Balthier lowered his voice to whisper in Ashe's ear.

"Forgive my familiarity, princess. T'will be easiest this way."

Ashe gave a slight nod, trying not to blush. "Of course ... Mid ... darling."

Basch gave a raspy sigh of resignation, and Fran began to giggle quietly.

Balthier turned his golden eyes on her. "Begging your pardon?"

She leaned slightly toward him and whispered. "...Krs'viith?"

The pirate's lip twitched in an almost-smirk that he quickly rearranged into a scowl before he whispered in return.

"But of course I studied theology in school, and with fine marks. Had you forgotten?"

Basch cleared his throat with difficulty and stepped closer to the pirate, his low voice sounding as though his throat were in tatters.

"I may earn the cane for this, young master, but I think you hardly the devout sort."

It was Ashe's turn to stifle a giggle. Balthier scoffed and raised his voice in mock disdain.

"I'll have you know that I am a proper man of faith, Davic. Archadian I may be, but a base, godless soul I am not."

Fran gave a soft snort.

Balthier ignored her, training his eye on a furiously shouting gentry who was trying to convince an attendant to let him into the theater on the corner.

"To the theater for a spot of entertainment, Amalia?"

Ashe followed his gaze a moment, and nodded solemnly. "A lovely idea, Mid."

An hour later, Balthier and Ashe had acquired a handful of pine chops for their various acts of kindness. The angry gentry had made it to his engagement at the theater on time, an errant schoolboy had been reunited with his very frightened mother, and Ashe had directed an anxious housewife to a greengrocer at the far end of Trant who hadn't had a customer all day, to both of their pleasure. In Molberry, Balthier aided a young mage in his search for curative spells, and helped an older gentleman decipher his new gambit cards. Ashe recovered an errant toy for a weeping gentry girl in less than five minutes, and was surprised with two chops as a reward; one from the girl's own pocket, and one on behalf of the beloved dolly.

It had begun to rain heavily in the interim. Fran was badly underdressed and was beginning to shiver. Basch's cloak was weighted down with rain and his raspy throat had begun to escalate into a nasty, whistling cough.

Balthier turned to the princess and extended his arm. "Into the pub for a drink, my darling? I imagine this awful wind has given you a chill."

Ashe - quite snug in the overcoat Balthier had stolen - nodded mutely, and the four ducked into the tavern at the corner. Immediately, Balthier snapped his fingers crisply at the tavern master, who hurried over to greet them with a bow.

"A hot Ordallian whiskey, and quickly. I'm likely to lose a lung if I keep... By the ... gods."

He immediately dissolved into a nasty false coughing fit; the tavern master winced.

"Right away!"

"Oh... ahem," the pirate rejoined, once he had recovered from his theatrics. "And an ale, for..." He waved his hand dismissively at Basch.

Fran sneezed; Ashe picked the tavern master's sleeve.

"A hot Madhu cordial for me, please, with mint syrup. Why, I'm chilled to the bone, Mid. Why didn't you bring an umbrella?"

Balthier tucked his overcoat closer around Ashe, but his eye was on Fran. "A thousand apologies, my heart."

Fran flicked her crimson eyes to meet the pirate's golden ones briefly, but did not move.

The tavern master looked up from his pad and addressed Ashe politely. "Something for the viera, luv?"

Ashe blinked. "Mm? oh, a black tea, if I must."

The tavern master made a final note and went back to the counter as Balthier and Ashe helped their sodden bodyguards to a table in the corner.

Ashe leaned in close to Basch, who was wheezing badly, and whispered.

"Is it bronchitis, Basch?"

The captain nodded and drew the hood carefully round his face as he began to cough violently, drawing scandalized stares from round the tavern. Balthier winced. It was plain that the captain was drawing attention they didn't need, and if the hood slipped they'd be in a world of hurt.

Mercifully, the tavern master returned with their drinks almost immediately after. The Ordallian whiskey went to Balthier, the Madhu to Ashe, and the tea and ale to Fran and the Captain, as had been ordered.

"Will there be anything else?"

Balthier waved him off. "My darling and I would greatly prefer to enjoy our drinks in peace."

The tavermaster bowed, abashed, and turned away without another word. Balthier waited until he was across the room, hunched over the whiskey possessively. At length he tilted his head slightly, scanning the room.

"Right then, to hell with appearances. This is your favourite, as I recall, Basch. I hope you haven't touched my ale."

The pirate shoved the whiskey across the table at Basch, who pushed the ale toward Balthier in return and gratefully brought the hot tankard to his lips.

Ashe touched her lips to the rim of the steaming glass of Madhu, testing the temperature, and nodded once. "The mint in this should help you avoid a sinus infection, Fran. It's not hot enough that you can't drink it straightaway. Go on..."

Fran reached for the tankard and drank deeply, and the princess warmed her hands on the little porcelain mug of tea.

A voice came from the next table almost immediately.

"By Archas! I'm touched."

Ashe jumped, and nearly spilled her tea. An elderly gentry in a fancy coerl-pelt coat sat at the next table; it appeared she had settled herself beside them without their realizing it.

Balthier turned toward her, suddenly tense. "I'm sorry?"

The old woman was beaming. "I've not seen anyone be so kind to a pair of such unfortunate souls in years! Your names, my dears?"

Balthier nodded very slightly but did not move. "I am Mid, and this is Amalia."

The woman leaned toward him, smiling. "Of course, of course. A pleasure indeed! I am Carlottina, I run an art gallery down the street... Do you like oil paintings, young master Mid?"

Much to Ashe's surprise, Balthier relaxed at once and smiled broadly; the effect was alarming.

"I adore them, in fact. Pheristho's Tales is quite my favourite."

"You know of Eucenid?" the woman rejoined, delighted.

Ashe and Basch exchanged a startled look across the table as Balthier fell into a spirited discussion with the old woman about obscure Archadian art. The pair chatted convivially for a full five minutes; meanwhile, Fran's ears twitched back and forth, listening keenly for rumors, and Basch scanned the room between sips of hot whiskey. A dagger concealed in a boot here, a pistol tucked into a pocket there.

At length the old woman laughed hoarsely and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her gnarled hands together with obvious glee.

"What a charming young man you are! You take such care with your poor manservant, and indulge an old woman her pleasure in art... I haven't had such lovely conversation in years. Here, now; a chop for your kindness."

Balthier accepted the little scrap of pine with a reluctant nod. "You're really too kind, Madam Carlottina..."

He drew a pocket watch from somewhere in his uniform and glanced hastily at it.

"Ah, what ill luck. We really must be off; We've a lecture to attend in Tsenoble, and if we miss our cab I'll never hear the end of it from my colleagues. Come now, Amalia ... Davic, on your feet."

Basch and Fran quickly drained the last of their hot drinks, and all four rose from the table. Carlottina beamed.

"Surely a pleasure. Come to visit my gallery one day, won't you, Mid?"

"To be sure," Balthier said, and bowed.

As the four made their way out into the street, Balthier gave a slight sigh, like a teakettle hissing. Ashe frowned at him.

"I'm sure I don't know why you insisted we rush out of there. Davic is ill, and he needs to dry out or he'll..."

Basch interrupted her with another nasty round of coughing. Balthier turned toward him and looked him firmly in the eye.

"A thousand apologies for striking you ill with all my foolishness. The whiskey helped a little, I do hope. Steady on?"

Basch nodded, and a faint smile touched his cheek. "Aye... Thank you, Mid."

Balthier bowed slightly and turned back to Ashe.

"I assure you, Amalia, I don't intend to catch our cab until both Davic and... however it's pronounced... are properly attended to. Once they're properly warm and dry, it's off to my humble abode... and you'll meet dear Father at last."

Fran gave a sniff of amusement at Balthier's dark humor, but then stumbled a little. Balthier touched her arm, concerned, before continuing in a whisper.

"You see, princess, t'was imperative we get out of that tavern before that wretched hag recognized me."

Ashe blinked. "Recognized...?"

"I stole a painting called Pheristho's Tales from that woman's galleria four years ago. The woman caught me red-handed, and I'm lucky to be alive. Hideous painting... but when I sold it to her competitors in Nabradia, the proceeds lined my pockets for a year. I thought she'd recognized me until I made our introductions and she didn't flinch."

Ashe gawked; Balthier held out his arm and raised his voice merrily.

"Shall we to the tailor? Our companions need dry clothes, and I know just the place for a proper coat."

Mid and his darling Amalia made for the tailor's shop, hand-in-hand; their servants came shivering – and smiling quietly – close behind.


End file.
